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'Whispers on the Wind'

'Whispers on the Wind'

A new historical fiction novel written by Bridget Geegan Blanton

ISBN (pbk): 0-9771068-0-2

Printed and bound in the United States of America

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Glengarriff 1884

Emerging from behind the curtain that separated her sleeping area from the rest of the cottage, Kate made her way quietly to the hearth. She looked down on the smoldering turf fire while running a hand through her long red hair. Glancing to the side of the hearth at the wicker basket where the peat was stored, Kate saw that it was empty. "Best get this filled," Kate thought to herself as she took hold of the basket handle. With basket in hand, Kate stepped away from the hearth, stopping only to lift a knit shawl of unbleached wool from the wooden peg on the wall. Kate pulled it tightly around herself, picked up the basket and pushed open the cottage door.

Barefoot, Kate stepped out onto the Glengariff morning. As always, the wind carried with it the scent of the sea. Somehow it tasted softer and sweeter this May morning, Kate decided, as she inhaled deeply. The perfumed fragrance of heather intermingled with the salty sea air, producing an invigorating tonic.

Kate shook off the last remnants of sleep and looked towards the mountain ridge. Cascades of mist floated gently down the slopes of green. Spring blooming wildflowers dotted the lush vegetation and seemed to dance with the wind. Turning away from the verdant beauty of the Caha Mountains, Kate let her gaze fall upon a yellow-breasted stonechat caught up in it's morning song. Kate listened to the tiny bird, as she started down a worn footpath, intent on gathering the much-needed fuel.

With strong strides she covered the short distance and found herself back where the earth-scented peat was stored. Kate made quick work of filling the basket with hardened, brick-shaped sods of turf,and was soon on her way back to the cottage. Kate hurried up the path and slipped quietly inside. She laid the peat on glowing embers, casting the basket aside and began to hum softly, while hooking a kettle over the fire. Moving smoothly to the next task at hand, Kate entered the tiny kitchen and opened a chest where the oatmeal was stored. She stirred the creamy flakes before scooping out a portion into a heavy pot.

Kate started to carry the uncooked oatmeal to the hearth, but stopped abruptly, distracted by the hushed tones of her parents speaking in Gaelic. Kate lowered herself onto a stool near the hearth, setting the pot aside. She leaned forward squinting as she tried to make sense of the conversation coming through the wall. Suddenly, the discussion in the other room stopped. Kate looked down at the forgotten oatmeal and in her haste to lift the pot, she almost dumped the contents into the fire.

"Good morning, Kate," her mother called out.

Kate looked into her father's face, still wondering about the words he shared with her mother. Her parents reserved their use of Gaelic for issues of a more serious nature. Kate knew bits and pieces of the Irish language, but her limited knowledge proved no help earlier that morning.

"I couldn't help hearing the two of 'ye," Kate began, feeling a bit ashamed at her confession of listening in. "I trust all is well," Kate added, looking directly at her parents. Francis O'Reilly looked over at his wife, drank a bit of tea and replied, "actually Kate, there is something we need to discuss with 'ye." Mary O'Reilly motioned Kate to take a seat by the hearth and filled two mugs with tea, handing one to Kate. "Your mother and I have decided to emigrate to America."

Kate looked stunned, not quite believing what she had heard. "I know it seems sudden," Mary chimed in, "but we've been thinking about it for some time now." "Why did 'ye never mention it to me before now?" Kate asked. "We wanted to wait until we were certain," Mary answered. "So what do 'ye think?" Francis asked Kate, as he ran his hand over a thick shock of red hair. "I don't know 'Da, I don't know," Kate responded with her voice trailing off. "By and by, you'll become accustomed to the idea," Mary said, "now go fetch me some bowls for the porridge." Kate got up from her seat by the hearth to do her mother's bidding.

As Kate walked off, still overcome by the news, Mary looked at her husband. Francis read the concern on his wife's face and gestured with his hands that all would be fine. Kate opened the cupboard and reached up for the bowls. She felt a wave of passion course through her body that left her shaking. She turned, facing her parents and without thinking, cried, "I don't want to leave."

Following Kate's outburst, silence filled the small cottage.

Kate closed her eyes and pictured her Grandmother's face. Immediately she felt her body respond to the peaceful thought and relaxed the grip she had on the bowls. Opening her eyes, Kate looked into the worried faces of Francis and Mary O'Reilly.

"Are 'ye recovered from the shock of it all, Kate?" Francis asked, looking at his daughter with concern. "Not entirely, 'Da," Kate replied. "Come over here and drink your tea," Mary gently commanded. Kate walked over and handed her mother the bowls before taking up her seat by the hearth. Picking up her mug of tea, Kate brought it to her lips and drank. The tea felt warm and soothing. Mary looked at Kate, thinking to herself how very young her daughter looked just now.

"'Me darlin' Kate," Mary said softly, "'tis a hard life trying to bring forth anything from this rock laden piece of land we live upon. How many times have I shushed your own harsh words, as 'ye watched your father take leave to give over the very fruit of his labor when the rent came due. Life is too dear to be spent killing yourself for another man's gain. With your Uncle Jamie taking over your Grandfather's land and ourselves not wanting this land we're working, America provides some hope of a better life to your father and me."

Kate looked into her mother's face, sensing the conviction with which Mary spoke. "Are 'ye beginning to understand, lass," Francis asked. "Aye, I understand 'Da, but I still can't believe we'll be leaving Ireland behind us. I've watched others leave, but I always thought, not me, I'll never leave." "Ireland will always be here," Francis broke in. "Aye, you're right 'Da," Kate continued, "but I've heard that once 'ye leave, 'ye never come back."

Mary sensed the direction the conversation was taking, and deciding that now was not the time, she acted quickly to bring about it's end. "Well, I can see we won't be solving anything this morning," Mary announced, trying to lighten the mood; "so, eat your porridge before it grows cold," Mary said, as she handed a bowl of the warm, creamy mixture to both Kate and Francis.

"'Ye needn't worry about helping me wash up the dishes," Mary addressed Kate, "pull a few of your things together and be on your way, Gran will be watching out for 'ye." "Aye, Ma." "There now," Mary continued, "we'll say a prayer and have our breakfast."

Once more, silence fell upon the O'Reilly household.

She then settled herself upon the bed and opened it, looking down on the few treasures it contained. A black beaded Rosary lay in the corner, next to a book of Catholic prayers, Kate pushed aside a precious tablet of paper, some pencils and a comb for her hair, for underneath this lay several packets of carefully labeled seeds. She had gathered these seeds with Gran at the end of last summer. Kate picked up a single packet and thought of the plans she and Gran had to put in a flower garden. Kate wondered if that too would change. She dropped the seeds into the box and closed the lid. Locating a nightgown stored under her pillow, Kate a quickly folded the cotton sheath and tucked it under her arm. She then picked up the small, wooden box and emerged from behind the curtain.

Mary O'Reilly's blue eyes locked onto the nightgown loosely tucked under her daughter's arm. "I won't have 'ye walking about, flashing your bed clothes for all to see, Kate. Take up the sack by the door, your wee box should fit as well." Kate glared at the homely sack lying in a heap next to the door. "Ma, I have no need of it," Kate pleaded, "I could just as easily wrap it in 'me shawl." "And what are 'ye to do if 'ye have need of your shawl?" Mary countered. "Do as your Mother asks of 'ye." Francis commanded, looking up from his tea and straight at his daughter.

Kate sighed, as she knew she wouldn't be able to leave the cottage without it, and so she resigned herself to the homely sack and hastily stuffed her nightgown and box inside. Mary O'Reilly leaned against her broom and smiled approvingly at the sack now in Kate's hand. "Well now, that's better."

"You're quite certain 'ye won't be needing me here?" Kate asked, still mildly annoyed.

"All right then, off 'ye go," Mary said, and gave Kate a hug. As Kate stepped out into the yard, Mary closed only the bottom part of the half-door, as she wasn't quite ready to let Kate out of her sight. Francis O'Reilly got up from the well-scrubbed table to join Mary and the two of them looked out on their departing daughter.

"See 'ye in a few days then, Kate." Francis called out. "Aye 'Da, in a few days." "Give our best to Gran, won't 'ye," Mary added. "I'll do that Ma," Kate called out as she waved a good-bye to her parents and started down the road to the Maloy cottage. Francis slipped his arms around Mary, pulling her close. "Everything's going to be fine, love," he murmured into her hair. "Aye, with the help of God and His Blessed Mother." Mary relaxed into her husband's embrace and together they watched Kate until she was out of sight.

The village of Glengariff was not far from the Beara Peninsula where Kate's Grandmother lived. Bathed in the warm Gulf stream, the climate was mild and the greenery seemed almost tropical in this part of Ireland. Kate couldn't help but smile as she walked along; not even the burdensome thoughts that hovered at the edge of her mind could taint the beauty all around her. Each spring, her natural wonder renewed itself, surrounded as she was by these marvels of nature.

Kate stopped at the side of the road, set down her sack and cupped a fuchsia flower in her hands. As she held the elegant blossom, she took true delight from the hues of lavender and rose that colored it. "So graceful," Kate thought further and tenderly released it.

Embarking once again on her journey, Kate came to a point in the road that offered a magnificent view. It was as if a notch had been cut into the distant mountain just to reveal the shimmering blue of the long reaching Atlantic. "Soon, I"ll be on it," Kate thought, as she focused on the ocean itself, "heading to America."

Bridget in Glengarriff, Ireland

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